Countdown
by Annie Blythe
Summary: "We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne." Post-suspension, Sam and Andy ring in the New Year at the Penny. Sam POV. One-shot.


**A/N: Just a short one-shot inspired by the season. The next chapter of 'Firsts' is almost complete, but in the meantime…**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue.**

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><p>They've been back on the job for two weeks, just in time to enjoy seasonal desk duty and a date with booking. He passes the hours with weary resignation: Fielding phone calls from disgruntled neighbors about Christmas displays, wrangling drunk and disorderlys, and swimming in a pile of paperwork.<p>

Each instance leaves a sour taste in his mouth like week-old eggnog.

He can't avoid the cruel, stifling reality: He's riding the desk all the way through the New Year. Sighing audibly, he shuffles the stack of files in front of him and searches the room for a familiar brown ponytail. She's not within his line of vision, but that's not entirely surprising. In her quest to overcome workplace embarrassment, she has labeled him a distraction that she must side-step on shift.

He thinks he should probably be offended.

He's not. He'll wear that "distraction" label proudly.

It's not like they have to avoid each other expressly: They're colleagues. Low-lit cover apartment notwithstanding, they are professionals.

Sam, for his part, detests distance. He knows she does, too, but she's not ready to admit it. There's some nervous shifting on McNally's part, a jumpy shuffle between her left and right foot when he catches her eye across the Barn. It strikes a chord, and he begins to look for other tell-tale clues. A hint of a hidden smile on her lips. Eyes that drop to the ground when they meet his. One afternoon, she walked straight into a structural column before mumbling an apology to the concrete. She manages to fumble for her radio, her case notes, and that invisible pen tucked behind her ear, all at the same time. After work, she rambles about "having a sense of purpose," and he offers an amused shake of his head.

"I don't want to flaunt it, not yet," she had protested over takeout at his place. "It's still fresh, and Frank gave us that warning on our first day back, and I just…" She had waved her chopsticks emphatically before swallowing the rest of her spring roll. "I don't want to give people a reason to talk, you know?"

He knows. He does.

But there's something else he knows.

He's a reliable guy. Good, solid police. Gets the job done. Few people in his life have thrown him for a loop, and that's part of the reason Guns and Gangs sniffed him out. Chameleon. Flies under the radar. Able to assume an identity; drop from the grid at a moment's notice. A handler's dream.

It takes a lot to throw Sam Swarek off his game...

But Andy McNally did it on her first day.

_Has been doing it ever since_, a distant, nagging voice reminds him.

He doesn't put his career on the line for just anyone. If it had come to more than suspension, he would have fallen on the proverbial sword. Had it all planned out: "_My fault…senior officer…asked her to stay_…"

She isn't just anyone. Not to him.

So, after two years of keeping it to himself, he'll be damned if he's going to hide it. If people want to talk, let 'em.

But back in uniform, he appeases her, agrees to respect her wishes. He will keep it G-rated and professional until they're off the desk. He grumbles about her distance at the Penny, but if that's the only distance between them… Well, he'll take it.

He won't enjoy the distance, but he knows that she's worth it.

It doesn't stop him from sending a few furtive winks and waggled eyebrows her way. _Keeps her on her toes_, he thinks, smirking.

Frank's forgiven them for a lot, but there are dues to be paid. If he thinks about it enough, Sam should be grateful they're on the same rotation.

Even if they are center stage in the circus that is 15 Division, he's happy. Circus acts are always better in pairs.

* * *

><p>Tipping back on his bar stool, Sam drains his beer and holds his empty bottle up in silent salute to his approaching friend.<p>

Oliver slides a beer and a shot of whiskey across the table.

"For finally getting your act together, brother," he says, clapping Sam on the back. His intention is implicit in his tone, congratulatory but somehow purposefully vague. He's gotten the memo, then: McNally wants to keep this on the down low.

"Timing sucked," he adds with deliberate frankness, the corners of his mouth pulling. "But new year, new slate, eh?"

Nodding to his wife at the bar, he lowers his voice. "Zoe wants you both over for dinner. She's got more steam than Epstein chasing a perp into a dead-end alley. Persistent, that one."

"Maybe give it a few weeks," Sam mumbles, clinking his shot against Ollie's and downing it.

"You can tell her that," Oliver replies, holding his hands up in a manner that unmistakably indicates _I am not my brother's keeper._ "Not getting caught in that crossfire, Sammy."

Zoe joins their conversation a few minutes later, sliding onto a stool beside Oliver with a big grin on her face. They're not touching, she and Oliver, but there's a current there. Sam wonders if that's what normal looks like.

It's a normal he wouldn't mind.

His gaze wanders over to McNally, loose purple top and tight jeans, high-fiving Nash as Epstein raucously recounts some story from patrol. She's laughing loudly, that same giggle that caught his attention on Day One.

His eyes slide over her, fingers itching for her belt loops, but he settles for gripping his beer bottle more tightly.

After a long moment, he turns away and meets the patient, knowing stare of his buddy's wife.

"So how are the girls?" he says easily, taking another pull from his beer. He doesn't acknowledge the amused gleam in Zoe's eye.

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><p>Ten minutes 'til midnight, and he can calculate her approach before it's executed. She sidles up to their table, the minty scent of gin lingering on her breath.<p>

Her eyes are bright and full of mirth, and she is smiling so hard, his jaw starts to ache in reciprocity.

"McNally," he greets brusquely, a professional edge to his voice. _She's the one who wanted it this way._

The effort is valiant, but he's not fooling anyone.

Zoe greets Andy warmly before not-so-subtly turning her body away from the couple. Keen on giving them a moment of privacy, she addresses Oliver with the urgency of imminent crisis. "_Izzy's convinced she doesn't have a talent for the school show; we need to brainstorm_…"

There is a brief moment when Andy invades his space, and he loses track of Shaw's conversation. Her broad grin is like a flare in the dimly-lit bar, illuminating the room and capturing his attention. She slides a hot palm across his chest, threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"McNally?" he questions, his voice a low rumble. He's got her wrist in a loose hold, ready to remove her arm before she does something she'll later regret.

"Officer Swarek," she murmurs, her eyes lit with mischief and a hint of… something else. She leans into his chair, placing a hand on his thigh and squeezing lightly. "It's almost midnight."

"New year," he affirms, carefully pushing her palm toward his knee as it inches higher.

"New slate," she counters. He gets a brief peek of her pink, wet tongue as she licks her upper lip.

Gesturing to the crowd, he fixes her with a familiar, suspicious stare. "People are going to talk, Andy…"

"I'm not sure who's going to remember, actually," she replies, inclining her head toward the tables that 15 Division occupies. The off-duty officers are boisterous and loud, if not a little red in the face. "Except maybe Noelle."

Lowering her voice, she winks at him. "And if she doesn't want the gossip hounds to know that's ginger ale in her glass, she'll stay quiet."

He raises his eyebrows in silent challenge, before saying evenly, "You sure?"

She shrugs, her face becoming serious. "We're not in uniform. And they're our friends, right? I don't wanna hide anymore. And besides, I don't think I was convincing anyone."

Sam shakes his head in amusement, dropping his hold on her wrist. He's alternately relieved and filled with a cheery sense of optimism. "So, uh… Something you needed, Officer?"

Andy nods deliberately, musing. "Yeah, actually." Tilting her head to the side, she holds his gaze. "Something I've needed for a while."

A collective echo reverberates through the Penny as the crowd begins to count down.

His slow, lazy smile mirrors hers.

_**Ten**_

…flavors of ice cream at the Mom-and-Pop creamery around the corner. "See, Sam? Pistachio's not even listed. You know why? Because they would have exactly _one_ customer," she explains, a tiny smirk gracing her lips. The cold weather doesn't deter her.

Their trips have become weekly affairs.

_**Nine**_

…affectionate nicknames she had rattled off in the wee hours of morning, giggling and snorting behind her hand. He rejected each ridiculous term of endearment, countering her suggestions with looks of vague disbelief and annoyance.

He eventually silenced her with his mouth.

_**Eight**_

… preset dials on his truck's radio that are now unfamiliar, tuned to her favorite stations. When she's around, everything is amplified. Music. Laughter. Sensory perception.

Life, really.

_**Seven **_

…heartbeats he had counted, loud in his ears, as he leapt the barricade and rushed to her side. After the echo of that first shot, the thunderous pounding of his heart drowned out all other noise.

_Can't imagine my life without you in it_. For one terrifying moment, the idea had consumed him.

_**Six**_

…hours they spent talking about the Brennan ordeal; soft whispers and wet eyes and a careful inspection of his body. It was a harrowing reminder that pain was not limited to physical injury.

They had ended the night in mutual, if unspoken, agreement -

Whatever this was, it was serious.

_**Five **_

…fingers that slid easily into his and seemed to just belong. A warm, soft hand that fit more naturally into the curve of his palm than the Glock he had carried for fourteen years.

_**Four **_

…cups of coffee he consumed when she left J.D.'s apartment for the first time. He thought it would help him focus on the task at hand; give him the drive to finish this op in record time.

It hadn't. Turns out that caffeine isn't a cure-all for missing someone.

_**Three**_

…times she had whispered his name that first night together, breathless and shallow as she met his eyes and arched against him.

_**Two**_

…hands sworn to serve and protect. He owed it to his city. His partner.

Somewhere down the line, serve and protect became synonymous with love.

_**One**_

…_McNally_.

One girl who had wrestled him to the ground before wrestling her way into his heart.

Smiling, he pushes off his bar stool, because the future is looking him straight in the eye.

Old acquaintance, sure, but…

_New year, new slate, new frontier._

"Happy New Year, Andy," he whispers, as she closes the distance between them.

She hums happily into his mouth.

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><p><strong>Happy New Year to all! Thanks for reading.<strong>


End file.
